Humans of New York

For the past months, I have been reading a lot about self-improvement and watching a lot of motivational videos. I've been doing this not because I believe that these are the things I need  to really change my life, but also because I want to learn what strong values that people believed in and how it helped them become successful. And yes, of course, I know that I still have a lot to improve myself, so I guess I kind of need these ideas for myself too. Am I getting you confused? No, just irritated! :D

So far my favorite channel in Youtube is TED Talks. There were so many of these videos I have watched, some are boring and some have really inspired me. It's really different when you hear people speak of their personal experience. The sound of their voice, the gestures they make, the expressions of their faces are what makes their ideas resonate to the viewers and make an impact. I think this is better than reading self help books alone. I'm addicted to hear more ideas and hopefully incorporate them in my personal life as well.

Another recent discovery that I got hooked watching is the Facebook page Humans of New York. It was just an Instagram account that I randomly discovered. An artistic photo of a stranger from New York, and a short sort of story about their lives, maybe the major issues they were currently facing written so well that reading them makes it feel like these people are personally talking to me. Then just a couple of months ago, they launched their facebook page and made them into videos. Random people from New York, they are not celebrities or social media superstars, just ordinary people like us in a short video about their personal lives. Some stories are very touching and some are just ordinary "first world" kind of problems but you can feel that it's real. If I were only to chose one page in FB to follow, this is it.

I'm the kind of person who wants to hear stories of people how they overcome difficult situations in their lives. Each of us are facing problems and no one lives a life just exactly the same as the other, so we can learn and be inspired by each others stories. But asking people to share me such thing is not easy. They would think you're nosy, or some nuts if I just go out asking strangers to share me their lives. It's not easy to to do and connections are hard to find. Same with making (and keeping) friends.

And, of course, I love it more when the videos were shot in Central Park. I love Central Park! I wish we have something like that in the Philippines, but I don't think it will happen. Maybe at least not while I'm still alive. 

Reflections: Tell People How You Feel About Them While They're Still Alive

I just greeted an old friend in Facebook a happy birthday. As I browsed the birthdays celebrants' page of this billion dollar app in my phone, I saw another old friend celebrated her birthday a day before. Except she was not celebrating because she's dead.

She was my first best friend in high school. Her name is Ria. It was way back in 1993, my first day in high school was one of the most uncomfortable moments of my life. New faces, new school. I was nervous and anxious, extremely shy and totally awkward. Yet this petite girl with a friendly smile spoke to me and asked for my name. She was my first friend in high school.

She was bubbly and happy. Although she was not quite like one of the typical girls I had made friends with, we were more of the opposite personalities, but we became friends in an instant. She was easy to get along with. She was the friendliest girl I had ever met.

Like I said, she was my opposite of personality. She was extroverted, so she made a lot of friends easily. She lost her mother at a young age, and have two younger siblings. The first time I cut classes in high school, we went to her house and played some board game and did some other things girls our age do when together in a house when the parents were not around. I can still remember her happy face that time.

A couple of months later then, she spent little times with me. She had made friends with the other girls in class, the more "outgoing and loud" kind of girls. One time, it was during our school's foundation day, she called me out along the corridor and greeted me with a loud "Hi Claire!" beaming with a big smile in that sweaty pinkish face. She was drunk. She admitted that she and her friends had a few shot in someone's place. Another time, in our PE activity where we had to present a dance presentation, the class was divided into several groups. My group presented a folk dance. Ria's group presented a debutante's kind of dance where they rented a formal gown. After their presentation, she told us that all of them girls agreed not to wear a bra in those gowns. She really seemed to enjoy all those crazy things she'd been doing. But then, she was a kind girl.

I never saw her again in our second year in high school. I didn't know what happened to her. But I missed her. She was adventurous yet kind, bold but caring. 

In 2011, I got a message from her in Facebook. She asked if we could meet together with my other two best friends in high school. But it never happened. Until one day I heard she died. I'll never see her again, and there's no way I can tell her that she was one of the most amazing people I have ever met. I never got the chance to thank her for the happy high school experiences we have shared.

To Ria Lou, wherever you are, I never got the chance to tell you this, but you are an amazing person. Thank you for becoming a part of my life. Thank you...

xoxo,
Claire

Survivor Ondoy

Today in 2009 was one of the most memorable days for the many people in Luzon including myself. It was one typical Saturday. It’s been raining non stop the night before. I was lazy to go to work but I had to because we were going to the Ronald McDonald House Charities Badminon Tournament in Mandaluyong to sell ice cream for the participants. I was assigned to take care of the cash, we were there as early as seven in the morning. On our way to Mandaluyong we passed by Marikina River by a cab, I saw that the water has started rising.

At twelve noon my husband called me and he said that the water went inside the house (that time we were still renting a small apartment). I was worried because he was alone at home and no one would help him. I tried to reach my family in Binangonan because there’s a creek right the back of the house and the water would get inside up to the streets but they were not responding to my texts and they could not be reached by a call.

At around the same time our co-workers told us via text message that the company vehicle and driver would not pick us up because the flood in Marikina has gone neck deep and they were stranded at the office, no one could go and out the streets. A few dared to go because they were worried for their families. I thought that was a joke because we never heard that kind of flood in Marikina before.

Night came, we were stranded in the street. It was the longest night I had ever experienced. We were sitting at the sidewalk along Gateway with two co-workers. A few hours later we decided to go back to Marikina thinking it was already safe but we were stranded again under Barangka bridge, that was around 12 midnight to two in the morning of September 27^th.  Later we decided to go back to the plant since Santolan was not passable, we rode a motorcycle with my co-worker’s brother.

At around three in the morning September 27^th, we finally went back to Sto. Niño, Marikina’s business district where our plant is located. My co-worker’s brother who had the motorcycle dropped us around the public market, where the flood was up to my knees. Before that, we passed Provident Village and I was wondering why there were too many people at the gate that time. Later I only found out in the news that many residents of that village died.

Josh, my co-worker was still with me the entire time. His brother left us because his motorcycle could not drop us to the plant (around 500 meters from the market) because the water was still waist deep according to the people who passed there. We stopped by the front of the Rotary Club of Marikina office, just across the public market. I took a seat at the stairs along with many other stranded people.

I was exhausted by that time. My bag was full of coins and my feet were wet the entire night. My celphone battery was dead, good thing I memorized my husband’s number so I borrowed Josh’s phone and texting my husband telling him I was safe. He could not sleep, he stayed with his parents house while I was at the streets of this devastated city I hardly recognize. I could not believe it was the same city I pass by every single day. It was so dark, except for one traffic light that blinked and one from a pawnshop, the entire city was like a ghost town, with few people walking by.

As a sat on that corner, I pondered about what happened. There were lives lost in just one day, one bad weather, the muddy waters consumed their dreams and many were left broken, both their homes and spirits. I thought about my family, thinking they were all safe. I thought about my dream of having my own home, with the most advanced home appliances and beautiful furniture. I realized those material things can be gone in just one day.

It was dawn finally, the light broke in. The pink city, as it was called, was not the happy city I’ve known. Cars were turned upside down and home stuffs turned garbage littered on the streets. There were still water and mud everywhere. Stranded people were walking back home, with faces you could not guess what emotions they had behind the forced smiles.

We want back to our plant, my home away from home. The first face I saw was Robert, our company security guard. “Robert! Kamusta kayo?!” I almost wanted to hug him when I saw him from the street. I fought back tears, I was so exhausted and cold and my butt hurt for sitting overnight at the sidewalks. I went straight to the office after hearing Robert’s two minute account of what happened to them in the last 24 hours. I called my husband and asked him to pick me up, the flood was almost gone but the muddy streets. Good thing the phone still worked and I looked at the surroundings while I wait. I just sat on a chair by the lobby because it was very dark in the office.

I looked out the window when I heard a chopper’s sound from the sky. There were many people, I assumed to be walking back home after the long night being stranded. The sun was a bit hesitant to shine, it seemed undecided if it would come out or not. I thanked God, the storm was over and today was a brand new day…

The shoes in the picture above are the same shoes I was wearing that unforgettable night.

My First Answered Prayer

I was young, about seven years old. It was a summer vacation, and all the kids in the entire neighborhood spend the whole day playing outside their homes. We would only stop playing at noon to eat lunch and had a few time for a forced nap, then go back in the fields or just in the play ground running, screaming, and pretending we were the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. I had the happiest childhood I could not have asked for more.

One of those days, I saw a group of boys riding a bike. There was only one bike, and the boys, about three of four of them would alternately ride it, each taking their turns. It was not an ordinary bike, but it was a big bike the ones adult would ride. Then there was a second bike, roaming around the field, and a girl was riding it. I recognized it was my friend Luna. The ground was dry and flat and dusts would rise up when the bike passed by.  She was riding the bike by herself, no one had taken turns with her. She was so good riding that bike, should would even stood from the seat and she even beat the boys if they were racing. I admired how she did it. That very moment, I wished I could ride the bike the way she did. But we did not have a bike, would could not buy a bike even the smaller ones the kids would play with. It would cost us a month worth of food.   

That night I whispered a prayer to God. “Lord, I want to learn how to ride a bike like Luna does, she’s just so good. I know I can do it too, only if we had a bike”. I still remember that was the very first time I prayed from my heart.

A few years later, a neighbor had to leave her house for a vacation in her home town with her husband and son. She was actually my friend because I was very fond of his son which was still a baby at that time. I used to spend a lot of time in her house while borrowing comics. I love reading Darna and Gagay, and she bought those comics regularly to keep updated with the story. She left and told my parents to watch their house for them. Her husband owned a bike, and she left it to my parents care instead of leaving it inside the house. She said we might want to use the bike while they were still away.  I remembered the time I so desired to learn how to ride the bike, then remembered my prayer….

Photo by Sira Anamwong via FreeDigitalPhotos

I had the bike all by myself. It was summer vacation so I took the bike and learned how to ride it. I taught myself so hard. I fell many times, and though it was the Lent, and my mother would get so angry because she believed staying outside on Good Friday would bring bad luck, or if I get wounded the wound would not heal. I succeeded and learned to ride the bike so well. I was so proud of myself. I could even ride a bike they way boys did.

I remembered my prayer and I realized that God really answers prayers especially if the praying person deserved it.  Maybe God won’t answer prayers on our terms, but according to His will, in His time or maybe not at all if it’s not for something better.

Food For The Soul

Photo by graur razvan ionut via FreeDigitalPhotos

"You don't need to miss grace or forfeit it or go through needless pain in this life by not praying. So PRAY."

-Pastor Jonathan Ferriol

Untitled

One fine day, I went to this clothes store at the mall. When I stepped inside, the female sales clerk greeted me "Good morning ma'am, ano pong hinahanap nyo?" I just smiled and said "Wala naman, tumitingin tingin lang". Then I went straight to a rack of corporate blouses. The store did not have anything below 500 for a top, even if they're on sale. Judging from my looks, maybe the sales lady thought I could not afford what she was selling. I was wearing an almost "pambahay" attire that day - my old faded jeans and a t-shirt I bought from Divisoria. When I'm done checking the clothes in that corner and moved to the next rack, the sales lady followed me, re-arranged all the clothes that I touched like I left them in chaos. No I did not. She was just obviously irritated at my presence so I approached the lady and said "Ginulo ko ba, sorry ha" then I stormed out the store.

FreeDigitalPhotos

That incident happened to me more than once. Going inside a shop that sells "high end" stuff makes the people there look at you from head to toe. And if you pass the "screening", you'd enjoy their kind treatment. If you don't, you'd be getting the hey-girl-you-think-you-have-money-to-spend-here look and treated the other way around. It's because I don't have a fair and super smooth skin, in other words. I don't look rich.

We are often judged by our looks, the clothes we wear, the car and the house we owned and things like that. That's life! Harsh reality. But you know what, there is Someone who does not look at us that way.

I Samuel 16:7 says "But the Lord said to Samuel, “Do not consider his appearance or his height, for I have rejected him. The Lord does not look at the things people look at. People look at the outward appearance, but the Lord looks at the heart.”

Know that even if the world is looking at us differently, God does not care about them. Is your heart looking good enough in God's sight? I hope the answer is yes! :)

What I Thought Was Missing In My Life

It happened to me more than once.  That point in my life where I felt like I wasn’t going anywhere. That my life has no purpose at all.  That despite all the hard work, nothing has paid off. I’d asked myself so many times why my life had turned out like this. I hated it. I blamed myself. I blamed my husband. I questioned God. I was ashamed to myself. I was lost. Still I kept in mind, I had no one but God.

When was the last time I prayed?  I remembered I had to pray. Not the thank-you-Lord-Amen prayer, but that one where I was down on my knees weeping hard until my throat hurt. I really have to pray. It’s been a while since I had a heart-to-heart talk with God.  I had so many things to tell Him. I had so much pain in me that I had to let go.

I went with my husband to the church for the prayer meeting service. It was a Thursday, it rained late that afternoon that discouraged me to go, but I still did. I had so much to unload to the One who’s always patient to listen to me. I had so many petitions and requests. I had them in mind, in proper order of importance to my life. I did not have to write it on paper because it’s been in my heart and thoughts for weeks, even months.

The usual service, songs of praise, then message, then it’s our time to pray. I knelt down; I was moved by the song we sang before we prayed. I was in tears, I could not utter anything. Several minutes had already passed but I did not know how to start with my prayer. I thanked God. I just thanked Him because I was there down on my knees and I could feel His presence. I still did not know what to say. I just cried and cried and said “I am sorry Lord”. I could not remember how many times I’ve said it. That’s all I could say. And I really was sorry. I remembered I had requests to mention but I did not say them.  All I asked from God were just an assurance that He will always take care of me and watch over me.  When I thought was missing in my life was nice paying job, a house we could call our own, the baby that I’ve been wishing for years, I was wrong. On my knees, with tears free flowing down my face, all I needed was God’s embrace.